The Rise of Night
by Writers of Rohan
Summary: The days will grow dark and light shall dim When an ancient power does rise again. The hero of the Rising Sun Will need the strength of more than one. The world is doomed to the reign of Night, Lest with the dawn there comes new light. The story of a new demigod, Rory Sullivan, and her quest to save the world. Read, rate, and review. I do not own Percy Jackson.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, readers! I am re-dividing some of the chapters, but the content is all the same. New chapter coming soon! Please rate and Review!**

Chapter One

I was running through the streets of Annapolis, panting heavily as I sprinted. The air felt thin and cold in my lungs. My heart pounded in my ears as if it were racing my footsteps. I didn't know how long I'd been running like this. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. And yet, it seemed like no time at all. It's funny how time bends when you're running for your life. I saw people casting quizzical glances towards me as I barreled past them. It didn't matter. I couldn't stop. Something that I couldn't see was chasing me and it would catch me if I did. I didn't need to look back to know I was already losing ground.

I made a sharp turn off of the brick path onto a side street, hoping this thing wouldn't be able to follow. No luck. I continued to weave in between and behind buildings, always aware of the threat at my back. I couldn't keep this up for much longer. I needed to breathe. Desperately, I flung myself down another alleyway before skidding to a halt.

I found myself facing a brick wall with nowhere to turn. A shadow grew on the wall before me. A terrible screech filled the air and I turned to see what was chasing me. I couldn't see it. It hovered above me, but the bright sun blotted out my view of this strange creature. Another screech filled my ears and it swooped down towards me.

"RORY!"

Startled, I sat bolt upright. I glanced at the clock beside my bed. 7:13. On a Tuesday. School day.

I put my head in my hands and took a few deep breaths to steady my heartbeat. What a nightmare! It had been so vivid, so real. I could still hear that dreadful sound that the creature had made. What had it even been? Even with the faint glimpse that I had gotten in the dream, I knew it was not something I had ever seen before. But how could I have dreamed up something like that?

"Aurora Sullivan, if you don't get up now, you're going to be late! Again!" I heard my dad call from the hallway. He was right. I couldn't be late again without getting detention. Besides, he used my full name. Never a good sign. I'd have to worry about the dream later.

"I'm up!" I called back. I turned and let my feet rest on the floor for a moment before rising from my bed and started to get ready for school. After a quick shower, I combed and blow-dried my hair. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. My golden blonde hair fell over my shoulders with a gentle curl. I stared into my own pale blue eyes. My dad was always telling me how much I looked like my mom, but I'd never met her. "You've got sunshine in your hair and the morning sky in your eyes," he'd tell me. "Always so bright and hopeful." But today, my eyes still held a sliver of the panic that I'd felt in my nightmare. _It was just a dream,_ I thought to myself. _Calm down._ I shook my head as if to brush the memory from my mind. I brushed my teeth and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

Dad was waiting there with my backpack and a pile of toast wrapped in a napkin. "Ready to go?" he inquired. I nodded. He handed me my backpack and we headed out the door.

We pulled into the parking lot of Chesapeake Bay Middle School. I'm in seventh grade, and at twelve years old, I'm one of the youngest people in my grade. Before I got out of the car, my dad reached over and brushed my hair back behind my ear.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "It seems like something is bothering you." My dad is one of the most perceptive people I've ever met. Somehow, he always knows when I'm upset. I really don't know how he does it.

"I'm fine. I just had a nightmare and it freaked me out a bit. It was nothing," I told him. He looked at me in silence for a moment, trying to discern whether or not I was really okay. I guess he decided I was telling the truth, because he simply leaned over to kiss me on the cheek and said, "Have a good day."

"I'll do my best," I replied. I got out of the car and waved as he drove away. Then I turned and walked into school.

I slid into my seat just as the bell rang. "Well done, Miss Sullivan." My teacher, Mrs. Heath, smiled at me. I smiled back at her, knowing I'd narrowly avoided detention. She started to call the role to begin class. I had first period English, which was probably my favorite class. It's odd that I like it, though. I'm dyslexic, so reading is really hard for me. But my dad is the Editor in Chief of his very own publishing house, Ross Sullivan Publishing. Creative name, I know. Anyway, when I was really little and my dad realized that I was dyslexic, he started reading with me every night to help me practice. Sometimes we'd use the manuscripts that came across his desk, but sometimes we'd read other stories, especially fantasy novels. Thanks to him, I have gotten pretty good at reading, despite my dyslexia. I love reading. Stories give me a way of spending time with my dad.

"How many of you did your reading last night?" Mrs. Heath asked. The whole class raised our hands. "Good," she said, "because you have a pop quiz on it." The class groaned, but I didn't. We were reading _Where the Red Fern Grows_. When I had been doing the assigned reading, I forgot that I was reading for class. I was so engrossed by the book that I just finished it. I wasn't really worried about doing poorly on this quiz.

Class after that was pretty uneventful. We talked about the story for the whole class. When the bell rang we all gathered our things and left. I walked to my locker to grab my books for my next class. I saw a girl with dark brown hair and bright green eyes standing there in front of my locker, waiting for me. It was my best friend, Laurel Thatcher. She had a bad knee, so she had to use a cane to walk most of the time. That never seemed to bother her, though. She'd moved to Annapolis in the middle of last year, and a lot of the kids had made fun of her for knee. One day, an eighth-grade boy actually stole her cane. His whole posse just laughed at her as she limped around trying to get it back. One of the teachers got it back for her, but several of the kids were still making fun of her about it at lunch. I saw her sitting alone and crying. I went to sit with her and spent our whole lunch period trying to cheer her up. We've been friends ever since. When she saw me, she grinned and waved enthusiastically. Once I got close enough to hear her over the roar of students' conversations and laughter, she greeted me.

"So, how was your morning?" she asked.

"Oh, you know. I woke up late again and—"

"Please tell me you didn't get detention!" she interrupted.

"Nope! I barely dodged that bullet. How have you been?" We started walking to our next class.

"Not bad. I'm pretty sure that science test today is going to kill me, though."

"Don't worry. I'm sure you'll do fine!" I told her. We reached the door to our next class.

"Yeah. I hope so," she said, biting her lip, as we slipped into our seats, side by side.

It was one of the few classes we had together. Our teacher, Mr. Kessler, was an elderly man with a crooked nose, but he was surprisingly fun. He always tried to make our second-period history class more interesting for us. He stood and addressed the class.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I trust everyone's first class went well?"

"Yes, Mr. Kessler," we chorused.

"Wonderful! Now, who remembers where we left off yesterday?" he inquired.

"We were talking about ancient Greece," a boy called from the back of the room. It was Joshua Anderson.

"Very good, Mr. Anderson," complimented Mr. Kessler. "We've talked a bit about several different Greek city-states. There was the artistic Athens and the war-like people of Sparta. Each of them had its own unique culture. But did you know that each one also had its own patron god or goddess? The Athenians worshipped, naturally, Athena. In Sparta, Ares was the patron god. In Thespiae, it was Eros."

"Those are all just myths! It has nothing to do with history," Joshua called from the back.

"The religion of a civilization has everything to do with history," Mr. Kessler responded bluntly, "which is why our next section will be mythology. There are twelve Olympian gods and goddesses. The king of the gods and the lord of the Sky is Zeus, who wields his mighty thunderbolt. His wife, the queen, is Hera, goddess of marriage and childbirth. Zeus had two brothers: Poseidon, ruler of the Sea, and Hades, lord of the Underworld. The remaining Olympians were Hestia, Athena, Artemis, Apollo, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Ares, Hermes, and Dionysus."

"You said there were twelve of them, but that was thirteen," another student commented.

"Yes, in some myths, Hestia stepped down to allow Dionysus to become one of the twelve," Mr. Kessler explained. "There were other gods besides these twelve, the minor gods. But there were also incredible mythical creatures and nature spirits. These nature spirits could take the form of beautiful women, known as nymphs, or they could be a creature that was half-goat, half-human. Does anyone know what they were called?"he asked.

I raised my hand tentatively. "They were satyrs, right?" I questioned.

"Quite right, Mrs. Sullivan!" he replied.

_How did you know that?_ Laurel mouthed at me. _My dad,_ I responded. She gave a me strange look that I couldn't read. It made me feel self-conscious, like I had just revealed a secret that I shouldn't know. I thought I saw a hint of fear in her eyes. Why was it so weird that I'd heard that term before? My dad and I had read a lot of the Greek myths together a long time ago. He seemed to think that they were important for me to know. I had never questioned it. My dad thought all classic stories were a necessary part of my education.

"So, for your homework tonight, I want all of you to choose a Greek god and read one of the myths involving him or her. We'll discuss some of them tomorrow. That's all for today."

The class dissolved into conversations. We only had a few more minutes before the bell, so we all packed our things and waited.

A few hours later, after lunch, I braced myself for my least favorite class: math. Laurel was already seated by the time I arrived. I took my place beside her.

I hated math. My dyslexia always seemed to be worse with numbers. To make it worse, this was pre-algebra, so there were letters mixed in among the numbers.

Our teacher, Mr. Crosley, was a bitter, middle-aged man with sharp, cruel eyes and a beak-like nose. His mousy brown hair was flecked with grey. He rose from his desk and the class fell silent. He turned his back to us, picked up the chalk and scratched an equation onto the board. He turned and scanned the class.

"So, who would like to solve this equation?" His gaze fell on me. His lips curved into a wicked grin. "Miss Sullivan, why don't you give it a try?"

I glanced at the board. The letters and numbers seemed to float off the board and scramble themselves. I couldn't even tell what the equation _was_, much less solve it.

"I can't," I muttered. I saw a smirk appear on his face. I don't know how many shades of red I turned.

"Well, then, would anyone else care to help Miss Sullivan? Mr. Seward?"

Brent Seward. He was one of the biggest bullies in the school. He led the group that tortured Laurel when she first moved here. Ever since she and I became friends, he hated me, too.

"17," he stated a moment later. Seeing Mr. Crosley's approving nod, he turned to smirk at me, too.

"Don't worry," he said patronizingly, "I'm sure you'll get it eventually." The expression on his face said otherwise. I was so angry, my vision was red and I heard a buzzing in my ears. The rest of the class fell into a tense quiet.

The lights flickered. Or rather, they became so bright that they seem to flicker when they turned back to normal. Everyone started to whisper.

"Did you see that?... What was that?... The lights..."

"Settle down!" Mr. Crosley shouted over the chatter. "I'm sure it was just a power surge." But I could feel his suspicious eyes on me, though I was just as confused as everyone else.

At long last, the bell rang to dismiss the class. I bolted from the room. Once I was free, I heard someone call my name down the hall. I turned to see Laurel pushing past the hoards of students. It was proving very difficult for her as everyone who passed inadvertently kicked her cane. She stumbled every time. I walked over to her and helped clear a path. Once on the other side of the crowd, she gave a relieved sigh and thanked me.

"Rory, why did you leave so quickly? I barely had time to pick up my books and you were gone."

"Sorry. I just can't stand that class. Anyway, did you see what happened with those lights?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said. "That was really weird." She was giving me a look that was somewhere between curiosity and suspicion.

"What is that look for?" I demanded.

"What look?" she asked.

"You were giving me a look."

"I was not!" she defended.

"Yes you were. You looked suspicious. Why? What do you think happened?"

"I think it was a power surge," she responded bluntly. I wasn't convinced, but I let the subject drop. Something had been very strange about the alleged power surge. I couldn't help but wonder what had really happened.

Our last class of the day was gym. I didn't like taking the class, but I supposed it was better to have it at the end of the day than at the beginning. At around 3 o'clock, the final bell of the day rang. Laurel and I headed to the locker room. We changed out of our gym clothes and freshened up. We walked to Laurel's bus stop and sat on the curb, chatting nonchalantly.

When the bus arrived, we stood and Laurel took a step forward before turning to me. She gave me a questioning look.

"Aren't you coming?" she asked.

"No, I'm meeting my dad at work. It's quicker to walk," I replied.

"Oh." She frowned slightly and her brows furrowed. I wondered what she was thinking.

"Everything okay?" I asked. She collected herself quickly.

"Yeah," she smiled. "I'll see you later, then." I smiled and waved. She climbed onto the bus and the doors closed to block her from my view. A moment later, she appeared in the window. I smiled and waved, then turned to walk away.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The walk to my dad's office was easy. I knew the way so well that I didn't really have to pay attention to where I was going. I let my feet guide me. As I strolled past the boutiques and offices and quaint little restaurants that lined the streets, my mind was free to ponder the events of the day. It had certainly been a strange day. There was my nightmare. I never had nightmares. It had definitely left me feeling a bit on edge. Then there was the incident with the lights. It was completely inexplicable, yet both Laurel and Mr. Crosley seemed to believe that I had somehow caused it to happen. Of course, that was impossible. I was sure Laurel had some idea of what happened, but why wouldn't she tell me? And that wasn't the only time she'd acted strangely that day. She'd seemed so worried when I answered that question about satyrs, almost as if she was afraid of me discovering some enormous secret. Even just now, at the bus stop, she acted like she was reluctant to leave me. Why she would be so concerned about me, I didn't know. But I did know she was hiding something. My curiosity was begging me to discover just what she was hiding, but something gnawing in my gut warned me that once I knew, my life would get much more complicated.

When I reached my dad's publishing house, I was greeted by the secretary. She smiled when she saw me.

"Ross will be out in a moment, dear," she informed me. "He's meeting with a client." I thanked her and took a seat. A few minutes later, my dad emerged from his office, followed by another man. The man bade my dad farewell and left. My dad turned to me.

"Hi, sweetheart. Ready to go to supper?" I nodded. He held out his arm to me. I took it and he guided me to the door. We both waved goodbye to the secretary and walked out into the warm afternoon air.

Later that night, after my dad and I had enjoyed our supper together, we talked to each other, inquiring about the other's day as we washed dishes. We had this sort of game that we would play. We'd tell a story about something interesting, funny, or odd that had happened that day and see whose story was better. My dad was telling a story about a potential client who had come in for a meeting, only to discover that he had somehow lost his manuscript on the way to the office and proceeded to recite the entire first chapter to my dad. When it was my turn, I decided to tell my dad about some sarcastic remark that Laurel had made at lunch. Just before I started to speak, I recalled another more perplexing incident.

"There was something strange that happened with the lights today," I told him. "I was in my math class and they flickered. Except it wasn't like normal where they fade for a moment and come back on. They got brighter. A lot brighter. For a second, it was like we were looking at the sun."

I heard the crash of a fallen dish and the sparkling sound of shattered glass skipping across the tile floor. Startled, I looked at my dad. His hand was still curved around the phantom glass that had slipped from his hand. All the color had drained from his face. He looked upward as if he were praying, a look of fear on his face. But there was a sadness there, too.

"Dad? Are you okay?" I asked sheepishly.

"Yes. I'm sorry. Would you pass me the broom?" I got the broom from the pantry and handed it to him. "You're right," he said, "that is very strange. I think you win." I wanted so badly to question him. I wanted to know what he was thinking and why he had reacted so strongly to my story, but the look in his eyes warned me against asking questions. I let the matter drop. The last of the glass was cleared away and we finished washing the dishes in silence.

I sat in my room doing homework. After what felt like an eternity of math problems and biology research, I decided to break the monotony. I walked to the bookshelf and scanned through the titles of the books. Every book I had ever read was here. To me, that bookshelf was a looking-glass into the past. It was filled with years of memories. My eyes fell on the book I'd been looking for: one on Greek mythology. I pulled it from the shelf and cracked it open. I flipped through the pages, trying to decide which myth I should select for my history assignment. The letters and words lifted up and darted around the page. My dyslexia was acting up again. Slamming the book shut, I wandered out into the hall in search of my father. I walked down the hall to his room. It was empty. I ventured downstairs. I saw a light coming from his study. I could faintly hear him muttering something. As quietly as I could, I moved closer until I could see into the room. Dad was sitting in his chair with his back to the door. I approached hesitantly. I glanced over his shoulder. He was holding an old photograph. In it was a beautiful woman of about twenty-five years with golden blonde hair and crystalline eyes. She was striking. But what most stuck out to me was the warm, hopeful look in her eyes. It was the same look that I saw every morning when I looked in the mirror. I gasped. My dad turned quickly in surprise, dropping the photograph. I smiled apologetically.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Is that my mother?" I indicated the picture, which now lay on the floor by my dad's feet. I had never seen a picture of my mother. I didn't even know that he had any. He sighed.

"Yes, Rory. That is your mother." I knelt and picked up the photograph. I stared at it for a moment. "You see what I mean? You look just like her."

"Dad, why don't you ever talk about her?"

"I suppose it is simply too painful. I loved her very much. And she loved me, too," he replied.

"Then why did she leave?"

"She had a responsibility to her family. She had no choice but to go. When you were born, she brought you to me and said goodbye. We both knew that day had to come." I glanced back at the woman whose face I saw every day in the mirror. A responsibility to her family. That was why I'd never met her. A responsibility to her family kept her away for twelve years? No visits. No birthday cards. No letters. No explanations.

"And what about to us? Aren't we her family?" I asked, my voice cracking with emotion. I wasn't sure if it was pain or anger.

"Of course, Rory. Leaving you behind was very hard for her. The morning she brought you to me, she told me that for her, you would always be the bright light on the horizon. That's why I gave you your name. Aurora means the dawn."

I was silent for a moment. I looked down to avoid his eyes. His fingers brushed against my face, pushing my hair back behind my ears, exactly the way he always did when I was sad or hurt. It was like his way of telling that he was there for me, that I didn't need to be worried, that everything would be okay. He pulled me into a hug. I squeezed him back, needing to know that my dad, at least, was here. That he wasn't going to leave me like she had. For so long, I had just wanted to meet mother. I somehow missed her terribly even though I'd never met her. The tension in my dad's embrace told me that he missed her, too.

"Well," Dad said as he pulled away, "did you need something?" I was grateful for the change in subject.

"Um, yeah," I stuttered, carefully keeping the emotion from my voice. "I have a history assignment, but I'm having some trouble reading. I have to pick one of the Greek myths to read."

"Alright. Well, bring that book over here and we'll find one." I sat down beside him at the desk. I started flipping through the pages, trying to decide on which myth I wanted to read, catching glimpses of illustrations and titles that I could only half understand. Suddenly, one caught my eye. I stopped on a page bearing an illustration of a bizarre creature. It had the head of an eagle and brilliant feathered wings. It's front legs had the eagle's razor-sharp talons, but it's hind legs and tail resembled a lion's. The caption at the bottom of the picture was written in Greek letters, but as I stared at them they began to shift, rearranging themselves until they revealed their meaning: _Gryphon_. I should have been shocked that I had just read what appeared to be ancient Greek as easily as if it were English, but something else about the image distracted me from that realization.

_This was the creature from my dream._


	3. Chapter 3

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Chapter 3

Over the next few weeks, the prospect of approaching exams pushed thoughts of the strange creature farther and farther from my mind. The first day of exam week was met by the students with a constantly-shifting mixture of stress, panic, and complete apathy. Laurel and I sat on a bench outside Chesapeake Bay Middle School with our history books open on our laps. We were supposed to be studying for our second test of the day, but we had accepted the fact that no amount of last-minute cramming was going to save our grades now. Besides, were more interested, naturally, in our summer plans.

"Two more torturous days of testing, and then I'm free! Two and a half months of no homework, no studying, and no stress! I can finally relax," I fantasized wistfully.

Laurel chuckled. "Well, while you're here, wasting away from boredom, I'll be up in New York at camp."

"Really?" I inquired. "_You're_ excited about summer camp?" She smacked my arm playfully.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing! Nothing! You just don't really seem like the summer camp type."

"Are you kidding? All that time outside enjoying nature! Some of us like to do more than _read_ about the wilderness."

"Hey! I like nature, too. I just happen to also like reading."

"Fair enough," Laurel said. "Speaking of camp, Rory, this is my summer address." She handed me a piece of paper she had torn from her notebook. I glanced at it. There was a phone number scribbled on it beneath an address for some place I'd never heard of.

"Half-blood Hill? That's a weird name. Is that your camp?"

"Uh... Yes," she replied. "You can call me there if you need me." If I _needed_ her? That was an odd choice of words. I mean, I would definitely miss her during the summer. She was my best friend. But still, _need_ just sounded... peculiar. I suddenly remembered the look on her face that day a few weeks ago after the incident with the lights.

"Um, okay," I said. "I'll call you. When do you leave?"

"On Saturday. I'm just staying long enough to finish exams." The bell rang just then. Time to go take our history test. We both sighed and started gathering our books. I stood and handed Laurel her cane.

"Two more days," I muttered, and we trudged inside.

My last exam was math. Mr. Crosley stood at the front of the classroom, watching all of us intently. There were no sounds except the scratching of pencils and the ticking of the clock. One by one, the students handed in their tests and walked out to freedom. Laurel finished before I did. She waved discreetly at me as she left. I bade her goodbye with a small smile. Pretty soon, I was the only one left. I glanced at the clock, already knowing I didn't have much time left. Desperate to finish but ready to be done, I scrawled out uncertain answers to the last few questions. I handed in my test and breathed a sigh of relief. Free at last! No more math for two whole months! And even better, I was done with Mr. Crosley's class for good.

Just before I made it the door, Mr. Crosley stopped me.

"A moment, Mrs. Sullivan?" It was a question, but his tone left no room for denial. My brow furrowed. What could I possibly be in trouble for now?

"Did I do something?" I asked hesitantly. Slowly, I closed the door. Before I could turn around, I heard Mr. Crosley speak behind me.

"Night is rising, half-blood." His voice was harsh. Sort of strangled.

"Wh-what did you call me?" I stammered. I had been annoyed at being held after class, but that annoyance dissipated. It was replaced with a sense of dread, heavy in the pit of my stomach. The hair on the back of my neck prickled and every muscle in my body tensed. I became very aware of an imminent danger. Very slowly, I turned to face him.

"You will not prevail. Darkness will reign, and you will die!" He exclaimed. Then he started to change. I blinked, frozen in disbelief. This didn't make any sense. I must have been dreaming. I willed myself to wake up from this nightmare, but to no avail. I watched as Mr. Crosley's beak-like nose elongated into a real beak. His hair and clothes melted into feathers on the top half of his body, golden fur on his legs and feet. His feet, though, had been transformed into lion's paws. His fingers stretched into long, razor sharp talons and a pair enormous feathered wings sprouted from his back. This grotesque sort of metamorphosis continued until Mr. Crosley, standing before me, was no longer remotely human. What I now faced was a terrible monster, half-eagle and half-lion, towering above me. A gryphon.

I stood dumbfounded, too afraid to move. He fixed me with a predator's gaze: powerful, cruel, and hungry. His lion's tail swished back and forth. The feathers on his golden wings shivered with anticipation. He took one slow prowling step forward.

And he lunged.


	4. Chapter 4

I suddenly found I could move again. I screamed and ducked. The gryphon sailed over my head and crashed into the wall. With a low growl, he turned to me again. He pounced, but this time I was ready. I dove again, letting myself slide across the floor. I somehow managed to evade his claws. I stopped within reach of the door. I scrambled to my feet and wrenched the door open.

I ran.

I flew down the long corridor, past the nearly-empty classrooms and the handful of students still in the halls. Everyone else would be outside by now, waiting on the bus or their parents. Some would already be walking home. I ran past a small group of kids walking in the other direction, chattering jovially. I'd had a few classes with these kids. As I barreled past, I knocked into one of them, but I didn't stop.

"Geez, Rory!" one called. "Slow down before you kill somebody!" As if _I_ were what they had to worry about! Why weren't they running, too? I knew I was still being pursued: I could hear the monster behind me, the sound of metal crashing against metal as he slammed into open lockers, the sound of talons scratching the tile floor. So why was I the only one who seemed to recognize the danger? I remembered my dream. No one had paid the monster any attention then, either. Something occurred to me: what if they simply couldn't see it? It didn't make any sense that I alone could see the monster. Then again, it didn't make any sense that I was being chased by a homicidal mythological monster, either.

I made it outside and took off down the street. I made my way downtown. Every person I passed gave me a quizzical look. I guess I must have looked pretty weird— a twelve-year-old kid sprinting through the city in a yellow sundress and sandals with bookbag slung over her back, running for no apparent reason. I ignored them, but I couldn't ignore the burning in my lungs. I could hardly breathe. I ducked into a store on the corner of the block and paused to catch my breath. I glanced out the window. No sign of the gryphon. So why didn't I feel safe?

The shopkeeper— a young man, probably late twenties, with dark shaggy hair— looked at me with concern.

"Are you okay, kid?" he asked.

"Fine," I panted. No use telling him what happened. He'd never believe me, anyway.

"You sure? You look like you've seen a ghost. Why don't I call your parents for you?" He probably thought I was having some kind of nervous breakdown.

"No, really. I'm fine. I just thought..." I trailed off. What should I tell him? "Nevermind," I said. "It doesn't matter." The shopkeeper didn't respond, but he kept an eye on me as I moved through the store.

I had ducked into a pharmacy. There were rows full of every kind of medicine I could think of, as well as other medical supplies: gloves, surgical masks, gauze, bandages, and a bunch of equipment I didn't recognize. The two adjacent walls which face the street corner were lined with windows and were both fixed with sliding glass doors.

I had finally caught my breath. Still a bit uneasy, I looked up and down the streets through the windows, scouring them for some sign of the monster. Nothing. Breathing a sigh of relief, I turned to the shopkeeper. I gave a small, awkward smile and waved as a way of saying "Okay. Well, bye."

_Okay,_ I thought, _I'm safe now. I was imagining things. Nothing is going to hap—_

Without warning, the glass behind me shattered. Shrieking, I scrambled away from the window where the gryphon stood with his eagle's feet perched atop the remaining shards of glass. I was flooded with a sudden rush of adrenaline. My senses sharpened and my skin buzzed with energy. A fierce instinct took over with a single-minded purpose: _survive_. I bolted through the aisles, looking for something, _anything_, to use as a weapon, but the sharpest thing I could find was a pair of bandage scissors. What was I going to do, give him a haircut?

The shopkeeper was shouting into the phone, probably calling the police. I couldn't focus on that. I finally spotted something which gave me a crazy idea. Maybe even crazy enough to work.

There was a defibrillator on the wall opposite me. I ran toward it, dodging talons and a razor-sharp beak. Once I reached it, I turned it on and backed up to the wall, facing the gryphon. He leaped toward me again, claws outstretched. I ducked, but not quickly enough. Pain lanced out from my shoulder through my whole body. Blood gushed from three long gashes. Trying to ignore the pain, I thrust the defibrillator upward and made contact with the monster's belly. It screeched and fell to the ground with a thud that shook the building. It writhed in pain as electricity coursed through its body.

"Ha!" I laughed, but I sounded hysterical. "I can't believe that worked!" I knew it wouldn't kill the beast, but I took advantage of the opportunity to run. I'd bought myself some time, at least.

I went racing down the street, but before I could even round the corner, the monster was chasing me again. My hair kept falling into my face, obscuring my vision with streaks of gold. I wove in and out of alleyways, trying to shake it off my trail. It was too fast. Its eyesight and hearing were too keen. I was losing ground, and it was getting harder and harder to keep running. My lungs ached. My body was growing more fatigued by the second and I'd lost so much blood from my shoulder that I was getting dizzy. I turned sharply onto another alley street and came to an abrupt halt. It was a dead end.

_Just like the dream,_ I thought wryly.

The gryphon screeched. I choked back a sob. I didn't want to die, but there was nowhere left to run. I looked up at the creature hovering over me, and I swear he looked triumphant. He swooped down toward me and... vanished.

A split second before he sunk his claws into me, before I became a kid-kebob, he exploded into yellow dust, leaving nothing behind but a foul, rotten odor. A knife clattered to the ground. Just then, I noticed two things. First, the knife, rather than being made of steel, sparkled with a coppery sheen in the sunlight. Second, standing there a few feet in front of me was a girl about five feet tall, thin, with dark brown hair and green eyes, whose face was as ashen as mine must have been. The one who had thrown the copper-colored blade.

It was Laurel.


End file.
